the Iliad of the Makeel
by Amir Oskui
Summary: An Elven warrior of the Makeel looks back and writes down his memories of when King Hyarmendacil attacked his peoples in 1061 and the wars that followed
1. Introduction 1

**Chapter 1**

In Middle Earth, little is known of the south and the east; it is odd however considering so much came from those regions.

East of the dwarf-land of the Iron Hills and the lands of the Rhûn, there are stormy mountain ranges and wide plains of tundra and death. It is known as Luin'han and it is a wild and inhospitable place. No one knows what is beyond there; no one has ever gone beyond there and returned.

To the east of Mordor, there is a nameless land, once like Gondor. However, due to Sauron, it is now no more than fields soaked in blood and salt, towns are nothing but ruins and its people nothing but bones.

It is to the east of the lands of Harad where the only lands of interest are. This is a land similar to Harad, though their inhabitants don't call their land by that name which was given to them by Gondor. They call themselves the Makeel and their land, Makilim. It is a large open plateau with vast grassy plains with occasional oases. It has a crescent of mountains that stretches from Luin'han to Far Harad. They are not cold or squalid like those of the north, but has volcanic springs and vents that keep them warm and snow-free, making a good habitat for kreeyakhs (Makeel for Winged Creature). All northern knowledge of the Makilim was lost when the royal records were set ablaze during a civil war in the Third Age.

The Makeel are elves but look different to the short, slender, pale Silvian Elves or any other Northern race. Like their northern cousins, they are short, but are stockier, like men and have bronzed skin like the Haradrim. A nomadic lifestyle and tribal warfare has also made them more barbaric, warlike. However, the Makeel are goatherds for sustenance and know of many insects that have brightly coloured blood. So the Makeel are good at textiles. Their one concession to the arts is embroidery. The tribe's war banners are patterned with varying degrees of complexity. One's banner is an indication of your tribe's wealth. It is a humiliation to lose one's banner in war and a great success if you stole your enemy's. Makeelian carpets have elaborate, vibrant patterns. The dyes of stain bugs are very effective. It is boasted that if salvagers in Umbar could surface Makeelian carpets from trading vessel that sunk a hundred years back, one could find that the colours of the carpets are still as strong as they were when they were woven.

Another industry of Makilim is horse breeding. The human tribes of Makilim breed and raise bucephalion horses which are fierce and wild but very fast, equals, if not, greater than the horses of Rohan, but they don't age and grow lame like other horses. One such bucephalion horse was given to Gandalf the Grey when he came as an envoy, the first one to come from Gondor in centuries. However, the Makeel themselves would sooner be seen dead than riding a horse. Their beasts of burden are massive reptiles; the most common are kangkhars, large lizards that have legs that don't sprawl like most lizards but are straight like bears. They walk on four legs but if cornered, they will rear up and use the heavy claws on their front feet to punch and slash at any enemies.

Nearly all peoples of Makilim are nomadic, but there are some permanent settlements and cities in the mountains. Here, mithril is mined; dwarves from the north showed them how to mine it from the mountains and make weapons. Although they learned the skill, there simply wasn't enough ore to make such armor as the plates and mail of dwarves. So the Makeel were still clad in leather armor, but it was re-enforced with mithril. The leather armor gave the Makeel two advantages against the steel-armor clad Gondorian knights; firstly, it was lighter to wear so allowed them speed, and the slower knights were soon outmaneuvered, surrounded and killed. Also, the metal glinted in the sun so any attack could be spotted by Makeelian archers a mile away, just within arrow shot.

Never underestimate a Makeel archer. Enemies did so many times and it caused many Makeelian victories. It was because the only bows vaguely near the standard of the Makeel were the Silvian bows. The only wood in Makilim was a type of bamboo that grew to be 5m in height and 7cm in diameter and full of fibrous pulp. Its only real use is for bows and arrow. The bamboo is cut down into 1m sections which are then split lengthways into long segments, the hard bark is then separated from the pulpy inner. The thin, springy bark is put into layers with a small amount of leather between each of the layers. The middle of the bow is then glued together but the edges are only loosely bound so the layers can slip freely against the leather. By now the bow curves slightly to one side. The bowstring is made out of spider silk from a type of domesticated spider kept by the Makeel. The bow is strung against the curve to produce the most powerful bow in Middle Earth. The arrow shafts are then made from the inner part of the stem, which splits easily when wet and straightens itself when it dries. A mithril arrowhead and hawk feather fletching is then attached to the shaft to produce an arrow that will fly true and pierce armor with ease.

It is here, in this land forgotten by all of the considered free peoples that my story takes place and all that followed help shape all Middle Earth.

Writings of Khwarhazarm

General of The Third Tumen

Makeel Imperial Army


	2. Introduction 2

**Chapter 2**

As I sit here and write, I look back at my long life, all the spoils and plunder of many wars. At my side, there is a mumak tooth, it is as large as a dagger and looks like it was made of marble. On my tent wall, there is an enemy's banner, from Rohan if I remember correctly. It is odd how such a rich realm like Rohan had such a simple banner, only a white horse, but men take horses seriously, they never trusted the reptiles, most humans come from the cold, maybe that is why they never did so.

Back in the first age, men and elves lived in Mordor, and then came Sauron. He spread lies to both races, causing hate, disunity, riots and soon civil war broke out. Both races realized that Sauron would make a powerful ally and both sides tried to win him over. He sat back, acted fickle and eventually joined the men. The elves were then imprisoned and tortured, they were burned and scalded with white hot metal, elven children were butchered in front of their parents, potions were administered to the elves to allow them to suffer mortal wounds and still live, to suffer terrible grief and remain alive, to give them horrific nightmares that make you want to never sleep again but you still collapse in greatly-feared slumber, to decay the flesh on your bones whilst you still draw breath with rotting lungs. Then, in a sudden act of treachery, Sauron freed the elves who, delirious with agony, tore apart the men. Their minds twisted by Sauron, the elves became his servants with no reason to live except to kill and maim at Sauron's whim. They became the first of Sauron's orcs and the lands corrupted by him, were called Mordor, the land of sorcery.

Many of both races had escaped Mordor. The men settled down in a valley to the east, where they befriended the wild men of Luin'han. The elves traveled further south where they found a plateau and lived there and became the first of the Makeel. In the city of men, quickly a metropolis grew as tribes of men and dwarves emigrated from the frozen mountains to the city full of promise. However, this happiness was short-lived as the twisting influence of Sauron infiltrated the city. Many wanted to swear fealty to Sauron, though many opposed strongly. Sauron then sent a message to his supporters: "to kill every man, woman and child who defied him and to destroy the city. If they failed to do so by the time Sauron arrives, he would do the job himself and burn the failures." Although the message was sent in secret, Sauron intentionally let the spread rumors of such a plan out to the opposition in the form of a seditious act to usurp those in power. The result was a bloodbath and, within three days, the city of 15000 was reduced forty people sitting in a smoldering ruin. The urban areas now resembled tilled fields, the farms were white with ash and the roads were no more than rivers and swamps of blood, the very name of the town was cast into oblivion. The people who survived were at the verge of dropping dead with fatigue. They were quivering wrecks, all remorse, pity, fear, regret and humanity was so saturated in their minds, yet still ignored, that they became numb to all feelings. Upon Sauron's arrival, the survivors flopped face first onto the ground at his feet. Although they didn't change physically, they went through a change equal to that of the elves, noble peaceful peoples transformed, by Sauron's deadly will. Their minds, Sauron had shattered, he rebuilt their psyche, eventually, they were no more than his servants, with no mind or fear. The men were now those we know as the Easterlings.

Once he had conquered the forgotten town, Sauron aspired to take the lands at his borders starting with Luin'han. The chieftains of various tribes originally pledged allegiance with Sauron. However as border wars with the Haradrim and Gondor broke out in western Mordor and Sauron had to go and fight there. The chieftains decided to rebel. Sauron attempted to send an emissary to the tribes to quell them. Not only did it fail, but the emissary was sent back scalped and branded. Although he still had to fight in the west, he sent his Easterling army to kill their lesser kin. However, the wild men and dwarves used massive war beasts, like giant eagles and a primitive species of warg to attack with success. Little is known of the beasts but it was said that they could have single handedly taken on a mumak, a feat even Sauron found nearly impossible. Faced with terrible weather and enemies that made war suicidal, many Easterlings defected. Many traveled to Makilim in hope of refuge but we sent them westward and on to where they united the desert tribes and formed the land now known as Harad. Luin'han is still famous for being the only place on middle earth where the Dark Lord's minions defied him and lived.

Sauron later took over Harad by intrigue and it became a hegemony under Sauron. He then attacked Makilim. Although the Haradrim refused to attack their allies, Sauron attacked at the Northern border with orcs, but the numerous waves of orcs proved ineffective and easy targets for the Makeelian mounted archers. A stalemate ensured, but the Makeel were able to weaken the orcs by getting dwarf tribes in Luin'han to attack the orcs from the north. The result was a victory for the Makeel, until Sauron himself came to lead the front line. Then we retreated to the negotiations board. We came to a good treaty, we had freedom and safety as along as we didn't attack Mordor and made sure our allies in Luin'han didn't either. Also, our leader Shara-Kharm avoided paying tribute by giving Sauron 10 kreeyakh eggs. We gave Sauron a demonstration on what kreeyakhs could do when trained, he was impressed and took the eggs. We weren't worried about his infamous treachery. If he took the time to check, he would have realized that all the eggs we gave him had male embryos so he still would depend on us for re-enforcements.

Writings of Khwarhazarm

General of The Third Tumen

Makeel Imperial Army


	3. The beginning of it all

Chapter 3

Up till now, I had very little to do with anything that had gone on. I was in the southern part of Makilim, dealing with multiple tribes of orcs who had ran south after Sauron had lost his ring and power. I remember my last encounter best, however, mainly as it was the only one in which I didn't drink myself into a stupor afterwards.

Head held high, I intentionally walked into an orc ambush. It wasn't that difficult as they can be seen a league away. It was how to catch an orc-band by getting caught and while they are busy tying you up, your friends attack. There was no orc this side of Mount Doom who would ignore an opportunity to torture a Makeel and thus none who did escaped our tactic. If we succeeded, it would be our greatest victory. If we lost, it would be very, very painful, for me, that is. As I stood and waited for the orcs to charge from the bamboo grove that they were 'hiding' behind, I heard their leader yell and shoot out. Behind him came a large number of orcs, maybe a hundred. I considered killing him now, but that would only cause the others to scarper and we wanted them all. I faked fighting and one orc ran behind me and struck me in the back of the skull. I blacked out. When I came to, I was in a collar and was being dragged along by not one but three chains. They knew all our tricks, obviously experienced.

Once I was back at their camp, my feet were tied and my wrists were put in cold steel manacles. I was then taken up to a bamboo stump, about 2 meters tall. The chain that held my wrists was placed upon a hook at the top of the tree. I looked up, and assessed my problems. My chains weren't that tight so I could still reach the blade in my sleeve, and my ankles were restrained by rope. Thank goodness they thought I was a stupid bumpkin.

A tall orc came forward; his face was no more than a slack-jawed mouth and large dark eyes in an amorphous lump of pock-marked flesh. I stared, and even though I knew it may make my life shorter and more painful, I decided to insult him.

"Ouch, you must be the ugliest, lowest and most disgusting life form I have ever met. I would punch you now but I'm afraid your flesh may slough off your empty skull."

Not impressive but all I could think of.

"Shurrup or you'll feel a lot of pain. You won't be so cocky when I finish!"

"Come on, there isn't anything on Middle Earth that's worse than your breath."

With this insult ringing in the holes in his head that I assumed were once ears, he bellowed something incomprehensible and two goblins dragged forward an old Makeelian portable forge.

"Typical," I thought, "trust them to do something as unoriginal as branding"

In truth, I was terrified. Not one sane Makeel could claim to have witnessed an orc branding in action, but the burnt mutilated corpses of victims were scattered across the countryside. I nervously looked up. About twenty meters away, I saw Giskhan, balancing on the top of a bamboo plant. Most think that, because we Makeel live on the plains, we lack the skill and grace of climbing trees as our northern cousins. In truth, we have kept that skill finely honed by climbing bamboo. I looked at him tersely. He held his palm open and looked down. Obviously, the thought of fighting a hundred and twenty orcs was enough to make you nervous. I was chained here, facing not only that but a professional torturer who had no train of thought other than which limb of mine should he burn off first. If there was anyone who should feel a shiver of worry, it was me. Then, the torturer pulled a poker out of the flames. It had a crude sharp edge and was red-hot. I looked up again. Giskhan had dropped out of sight.

After the orcs got bored of taunting me, they started to shriek in anticipation of the kill. I took a chance and pulled with my teeth, from my shoulder epaulet, a small yet ingenious device, a narrow bamboo tube full of ground dittany bark which, if broken, gives off a burst of vapor that will ignite easily. As soon as the torturer was within range, I blew hard on the tube and a jet of powder surged forwards, which was then ignited by the poker and exploded in his face.

At that moment, Giskhan burst out of his hiding place and soared several meters over the ground, hollering, until he finally landed on his feet and drew out his two scimitars. Then, not only did a wave of Makeel mounted soldiers charge forwards from behind him but a second came in the opposite direction. The orcs were so stunned that I had a chance to pull a hidden blade from my sleeve, jackknife my legs up and cut my ankle bonds. Now with my legs free, I planted one of them firmly on the base of the plant and got ready to jump. I then kicked the torturer on the head. I then had enough force to swing myself up and onto the top of the bamboo where I was able to unhook my chains. The torturer, although still lying on the ground, swung round the poker. It cut the bamboo and I fell, losing my dagger. He was up on his feet instantly and swung the poker around. I blocked the attack by locking the chain around the poker, sliding the chain down to the handle. What followed was a brief struggle between the two of us, as we tried to force the poker into each others faces. I took a step backwards and tripped him up. He fell and let go of the poker handle. I yanked the chain and it swung round and into his face. His hands shot up and grabbed the red hot metal. He screamed as I unwrapped the chain and pushed down on the handle, his hands eventually turning black and he rolled onto his side. He got up and, as his hands were too badly burnt to be of use, he head butted me. I was ready for him and wrapped the chain around his neck and pulled backwards, hoping I could garrote him quickly. He was strong and tried to jerk me over his shoulder. I pulled him backwards again, but then my eyes fell upon the forge which they used to heat up the poker. Without thinking, I swung him round and forced him face first into the fire as if to drown him. He struggled, trying to remove the chain and get his face out of the inferno. After less than a minute, he stopped moving, his lungs inhaled their final breath of flames and forge oil, and then he collapsed. I then pulled him up. His flesh had sloughed of his bones, as I had predicted. Until now, the other orcs had been too busy to notice me, but I knew that wouldn't last. I then noticed something in the forge, another poker. I pulled it out, it was nearly white hot. I picked it up and ran forward, ready to kill. An orc grabbed a rusty sabre and swung it at me. I blocked it, his sword snapped with a shower of sparks. He was still dumbfounded when I hit him with an uppercut, the hot poker hitting him just below the cheekbone. Imagine being clubbed, slashed and seared all at once. He fell back stone dead; his cheek was torn, off showing his peg like teeth. More orcs ran at me. I swung low, slicing the first at the knee and then stabbing him in the chest. He screamed like an animal as smoke spewed from his wound. The second ran at me, with his spear ready. I deflected it, searing a horrific burn on his head. I spun round and, before I knew it, I was face to face with the third. He crashed into the poker. With his last scream, he released steam like a dragon, and then slid down the weapon to the ground. I turned round and ran, swinging my poker like a windmill; it glowed fiercely as it span. I slashed left and right, laying blow after blow, as orcs exploded like fireworks of blood, sparks and screams.

When it all ended, I was surrounded by dead orcs; the stench of burnt flesh was everywhere, like a mist. Orcs lay dismembered and drawn. The poker had cooled down by then. For the first time since I had grabbed it, I let it go. It hit the ground with a soft thump, although in my head, the noise was deafening. It is a strange phenomenon, during a fight, your mind speeds up, all sounds and thoughts disappear, just your enemy, and your weapon slashing, deflecting his blows; the only noises are the clash as your arms collide and their screams as your weapon finds its targets, and the chokes that are their last breath. Now was the only time anyone dared go near me. Giskhan approached cautiously and stared at the ground.

"You were late." I joked

"Not that late!"

"Enough to get me concerned."

"You survived, didn't you?"

"Come on, before the kangkhars smell you and think you are their meal. We have the orc chieftain, and we need you to do the honours. It's your reward for being bait"

"Good, nice to know your appreciated round here, Right, first go to the forge they had, and see if they have anything to get these off."

"You managed to fight with them on?"

"That poker is heavy, you need two hands anyway. However," I stretched my arms to their limit, "they aren't that constrained, I could box you wearing these."

"I wouldn't advise it"

"I know. Look for a small pair of manacles in the forge."

Once freed, I picked up the poker. There was work to be done and orcs to be done in. The chieftain had realized shortly after we charged, that the battle was not going his way. He was found hiding in a ditch. Now he was up against a tall bamboo plant, restrained at spearpoint. I clicked my fingers and the all-too-familiar forge was brought up. I turned around and got ready. The smaller pair of manacles was brought forward. They were too small to fit his wrists, so we heated them up until they had expanded enough and could be put on. We then secured them with hot copper wire. Working fast and with the stench of burnt orc in our noses, we firmly nailed the chain at the top of the bamboo and manacled his feet in similar fashion onto a rock we found. This rock was so large and heavy that it took ten kangkhars to carry it here. Now we rested, watching him wriggle and spit.

"Fools, do you think I will suffer here? You can come back in a month and I will still not have starved."

I walked forward, my expression growing colder and colder, a sneer stretched across my face.

"Why do you think we want you to starve? Do you feel the chains contract and pull at you now?"

As I spoke, you could see the chains cool down and shrink; he stopped wriggling as he was slowly stretched by the chain. I carried on.

"Ever notice how bamboo can grow back, no matter how many times you chop it down? That is because bamboo grows from the base. By tomorrow, the bamboo would have grown a little, and so would've the space between your hands and the ground. In a month's time I would be very surprised to find you are still there and in any less than two pieces."

I smiled, the orc still tried to look proud. Denial, I guess. I paused, ready to give him the ultimatum

"We are not total murders, like your kind, you have a chance. Notice how in each chain there is one link that is broken. If the chains are ever slack, they will allow the manacles to break. If you are strong enough to break the bamboo," I had to pause, several of those behind me started sniggering, "you can break free. When free, although you won't be strong enough cause any more death, you will be able to live."

We left him there, cursing and swearing. We rode out to a small hamlet a short way to the north. In the vast expanses in Makilim, water from the mountains flows down to deep underground where it then surges up, forming groundwater springs. Around these springs, there are some of the only permanent settlers in all Makilim. They started out as farmers, but after a while, such springs become popular with travelers. Inns and taverns sprouted up as weary travelers, emissaries, traders and bandits need places to sleep, food to eat, water to drink, markets for trade and a stable for any of a variety of beasts of burden and paddocks for goats or sheep. One such place was near our garrison. It was a small place, with several farms, producing mainly either chickpeas or potato for food.

The soldiers often went down there, to one of the various bars or taverns. After a fight however, we always went to one in particular. It was large type of tavern called a gulos. It was built over a spring, so it always had much needed water and something else a lot stronger.

In Makilim, it is commonly known that if you feed bacchus beetles yeast and adequate amounts of plant growth, they will ferment the plant sugars internally, swell to the size of your fist and give off a loud, high-pitched, somewhat rude sound; the first being the most useful ability. The beetles then are slit open, fluids from their abdomens collected and then distilled. The resultant liquid can be distilled further and be used either to treat wounds or as a high quality fuel, or, if mixed with mint oils or juice, it makes a popular, intoxicating drink called groohakh. It is named after the sound you make upon first drinking it.

I sat down next to Giskhan and several others. Boorchu came up to us. She used to be a

part of our southern brigade but now runs this establishment with a few others. She eyed us warily. It was not because of our impeccable manners that we had pretty much been kicked out of every other gulos we could afford.

"The usual I suppose?" she asked dryly

"No," I said "for tonight we'll need the best cider and groohakh you have. We need a celebration after today."

She raised an eyebrow, "You got another orc band, didn't you?"

"Yes, one more orc chief is being stretched on a bamboo, wondering which of his limbs will pop out first." Only answer you could really give, to be honest.

"What happened to the Makeelian virtue of tolerance for all, regardless of who they are?" she reprimanded, as if to a naughty child. All of a sudden I was young again, facing my father as he preached about honor.

"It was overridden with the Makeelian instinct to avoid being given serious injury." The very reply I have used all my life.

"Speaking of serious injuries….," she began.

If this was my father, he would have clipped my ear, but, since it was Boorchu, this could only mean one thing. She walked round the bench, cornering us.

"Today….," she began,

"…is payday, our credit has finally ran out," we completed. It was obvious.

"Well, does that mean you all will be planning on giving me something?" she asked, but her imperative, sarcastic mood dropped instantly as we laughed. Dekher stood up. I looked down, he was new, and judging by his stink, had already started drinking. He leaned his hand on her shoulder,

"Com'on, give us a break, you were once a soldier till you started working here" he said, acting like a charmer.

Boorchu didn't say a word, she twisted to one side, sending him stumbling. She grabbed his arm and twisted it. He stopped short, his face screwed up. She turned round to face us, still holding Dekher in an armlock but keeping him at arm's length, holding his hand daintily as if it was a large, offensively foul spider that she picked up.

"I get more violence and fighting in here on a rowdy night than you have all week" she said grimacing, "Money, gentlemen!"

We didn't need a second telling, pulling a handful of bronze coins from our pockets, even Dekher trying his best with only one arm. But still, we fell a little short of the mark, obviously many of us were keeping some for tonight. Giskhan then stepped forwards, pulling a chain necklace out of his pocket, showing Dekher the proper way to charm Boorchu.

"A lovely piece of jewelry here which would look wonderful on you, milady, only two previous owners, firstly, a Makeel woman like yourself. As for what caused her to lose such an item, the less said the better, but more recently, today in fact, I pulled this out of an orc's stomach which I had just slit open. Well cleaned by yours truly and still in mint condition."

Boorchu smiled, and slackened her grip on Dekher. She held the trinket up to the light.

"Is this an alternative payment or just a bribe to let you friend escape in less pain then I want to inflict on him?" She asked. Her sarcasm was back.

"Both." he said, "It should cover tonight as well, and, if any money from it is left over after tonight, consider it a tip."

She smiled and brought us drink and then briskly walked off.

"What's with the rush?" I asked

"I need to drag up another keg of cider from the cellar, or perchance by some miracle you lot won't want second and third rounds." She said smiling sarcastically.

As her prediction went, we did order another round, and, judging by Dekher's expression, he would need a lot more still. But then, Boorchu handed Giskhan a letter, on which it stated we were to read this after having no more than one drink each. He read it furtively before passing it to me. It said we were must travel north to the city Kharkoom. Even though I only read half, I knew it was from Giskhan's brother, Tamjin, who ruled the city and that Tamjin was in trouble. We stood on the bench and Giskhan hit a shield hanging on a wall to get everyone's attention. He then spoke.

"Khwarhazarm and I are going up north. We do not know how long we'll be up there and we may never return. So, I must plan for if I never return, by announcing two things. Firstly, Tangut will be in charge for now, and, more importantly, all drinks tonight are on us."

This more than anything gave us a farewell cheer. Now, it seems so long ago that we set off, carrying no more than most nomads. We had to travel light and fast. When we started, we rode slowly. Our heads were still steeped in groohakh. As we passed the farms, the vast plains of Makilim lay before us, stretching to the horizon . As we sped up, the drink having cleared up and competition taken full hold on us, the kangkhars reared on to their hind legs, and ran. Our steeds then took an almighty jump and started to bound along, resembling bucking horses. After many hours, the mountains loomed up in the distance. Kharkoom was a few days away.

Writings of Khwarhazarm

General of The Third Tumen

Makeel Imperial Army


End file.
